


Prophet

by Panic_Room



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Coming of Age, Cybertronian anatomy, Emotional Conflict, Familiars, Magic AU, Medieval AU, Minor Character Death, Other, Religious Bigotry, Religious Content, Religious Figures, Spying, Supernatural Elements, Tags will be added, Telepathy, Templars, Unreliable Narrator, building relationships, established relationships - Freeform, fae & fae magic, religious ceremonies, supernatural and magical beings, telepathy gone wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_Room/pseuds/Panic_Room
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Trine of Primus--a Matrix-bearing Prime, a Speaker, and a Prophet. These were the mechs designated by Primus to lead Cybertron. The only problem is that there hasn't been a true Prime in thousands of years and the Trine of Primus is nothing more than an old legend in the history books. Instead, Cybertron is ruled by the Temple of Primus and the Senate, neither of whom take very kindly to a young Praxian with the power to usurp their control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So my brain woke me up at four in the morning to shove the idea of prophet Prowl at me and I had to bite. This is continuity soup, and I've basically taken all the characters I know well enough to write, dumped them in a pot with magic, medieval, and politics to see who comes out on top.  
> I had to differentiate between HUD messages and thoughts, so [italicized text] is HUD message. Italicized text is thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my brain woke me up at four in the morning to shove the idea of prophet Prowl at me and I had to bite. This is continuity soup, and I've basically taken all the characters I know well enough to write, dumped them in a pot with magic, medieval, and politics to see who comes out on top.   
> I had to differentiate between HUD messages and thoughts, so [italicized text] is HUD message. Italicized text is thought.
> 
> Edit: The timeline in the beginning is a bit chaotic; the order that the scenes appear is not the chronological order in which they occur. The second scene in the first chapter, the one with Starscream, chronologically happens first. Then the first scene in the second chapter with Soundwave, then the first scene in the first chapter, then the second scene in the second chapter. After that, the timeline straightens itself out

Prowl awoke with a helm-ache. It was small, nothing more than a dull ache behind his optics. Based on his past experience with helm-aches though, it would get much worse.

It had already begun to spread to the rest of his frame, too. His arm was much too heavy when he attempted to rub his optics open.

With a resigned sigh, he onlined his optics and looked around his berthroom. It was small and sparsely decorated. There were few objects that weren't necessary to his function, and most of those were only there because they had been gifted to him at some point.

Deciding it was a waste of time to remain in his berth, Prowl heaved himself to his feet. He ignored the way his joints cracked back into place and the way his plating groaned in protest. Taking a step into the small space, he stretched his arms above his head and spread his doorwings as wide as they would go. His plating groaned again, and a few more joints cracked quietly before settling pleasantly into place.

The stretching helped the strain on his protoform, as he'd discovered, but nothing could completely alleviate the ache that settled into his joints like an early morning fog. Ever since he'd started getting them, the helm-aches had been affecting far more than just his helm. His entire frame felt ragged and undernourished, even though First Aid had confirmed there was nothing wrong with his fuel intake. Additionally, Perceptor hadn't seen any problems with the integration of the new code update. Sure, aches and pains were normal after a code upgrade, but not to this degree and not for this long after the upgrade.

Relaxing once more, Prowl stepped with a bit more ease towards the wall opposite his berth. A small smile graced his lips when he realized for the thirty-fourth time that he _could_ stretch out like that immediately after waking up. It was vastly preferable to waiting until he was in someplace more open, or forgoing it altogether.

A modern-style datapad hung on the wall, displaying the days of that week, and the weeks of that month. Idly Prowl tapped the day's date, ignoring the slight shake of his hand. In the back of his mind, he enjoyed once again that he _could_ keep a calendar electronically.

The day's date popped up, and Prowl frowned. It was the date of his Sanction.

Groaning internally, Prowl turned and exited his small berthroom. The rest of his family's habsuite consisted of only one other slightly larger berthroom, a dingy living area, a cramped space for washracks, and a patch of glass tile in the floor surrounded by cabinets that served as a kitchen of sorts. There were only a couple of boxes left sitting neatly between the two chairs in the living area, begging attention.

As expected, his carrier was sitting in one of the chairs, completely ignoring the boxes, going over the details for Prowl's Sanction 'one last time' to make sure everything was taken care of. Obviously, there would be at least three more 'last times' before the actual baptizing.

When Prowl entered the room, his carrier looked up from the datapad (generously provided by the Temple) to smile warmly at him.

“Good morning, carri.” He smiled in return, dragging his doorwings upwards in greeting and taking extra caution not to shuffle his peds against the floor when he moved to the kitchen.

“Good morning Prowl. How are...” Prowl's carrier trailed off when he saw Prowl open one of the cabinets. That cabinet, specifically. “Oh.”

Taking out a small bottle, Prowl nodded grimly and dipped his doorwings apologetically.

The contents of the bottle rattled when Prowl set them on the countertop. “It's not that bad yet, and the Sanction is scheduled early in the cycle.” Taking one of the pills out, Prowl looked at his carrier, who had stood and was making his way over to Prowl. “Usually it doesn't become unbearable until around mid-cycle, and these help considerably.”

Taking a deep vent, Prowl placed the small pill on the back of his glossa and worked it down his intake, shuddering slightly and closing his optics at the sharply bitter trail it left.

“Are you certain you still want to go today? The Seekers will understand if you can't.” His carrier's words were overlayed with glyphs of _concern/caution/don't force yourself._ Prowl felt a warm servo on his back, centered between his doorwings.

His carrier was nearly always right. If he went ahead to the Sanction and was interrupted by a crash, it was more dangerous than going longer without being Sanctioned. From what he'd heard, the baptizing process included the spark as much as it did the processor and frame. The actual procedure of the Sanction was rather vague, but based on the information he had, it wasn't something that could be stopped in the middle and continued at a later time.

But he'd already had to reschedule with the Temple once due to a processor-ache, and he didn't want to disappoint them a second time. And if the process included his processor as well, maybe whatever was causing these Unicron-damned processor aches would be repaired or at least positively affected.

With another deep vent, Prowl returned the bottle to its place in the otherwise empty cabinet, noticing that his carrier had removed his servo. The Sanction was only scheduled to take two hours, two and a half at most. It would likely be very unpleasant towards the end if the ache persisted, though it wouldn't be white-opticked, processor-lagging, tasting energon on the back of his glossa bad. Even though the pain had been progressing more quickly as of late, it was still _[eighty-seven percent]_ probable that he would still be functional at the end of it.

Prowl turned to face his carrier full-on, looking him optic-to-optic. “We've already put it off once, and the longer I go without the worse it's likely to get. If nothing else, the medics will finally be able to examine me as a full-frame.” Then they could actually fix whatever the damn problem was.

A frown tugged at the edge of his carrier's lip, before his field pulsed with a wave of pride. He nodded, doorwings perking up and fluttering slightly. A sign of approval. “Alright.” A pause, then “Your Sire is on his way.”

Prowl nodded in acknowledgment before reaching for a different cabinet. When he withdrew a glass, his carrier frowned again.

The flicker in his carrier's EM field drew his attention, and he noticed the frown. Prowl met his optics, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong. His mouth snapped shut when his carrier glanced at the glass with an arched optic ridge before he could voice his confusion.

A small sigh escaped his vocalizer before he could stop it. “I'm only getting some coolant.” Prowl felt his field color with irritation. In the wisest decision he would make that cycle, he withdrew his field to wrap tightly around his frame so that his carrier wouldn't feel it and be offended. However, a sharp stab of heat from the back of his helm had him resetting his optics several times before he tentatively allowed his field to relax.

Right. Field manipulation made it worse. How had he forgotten that? His processor hadn't been lagging, so it must still be onlining certain background processes.

Another flicker resonated in his carrier's EM field. “Okay.” Sub-glyphs matched the embarrassment of his field. Prowl looked at him again and saw that he was looking away. So he hadn't noticed. That was good. If he had noticed the pain in Prowl's field, the Sanction would have surely been called off, and if he had noticed the irritation, Prowl would be listening to a very loud lecture about how his creators were nothing but concerned for him.

Dutifully ignoring the empty grumble of his tank, Prowl moved around his carrier to where his family kept their jugs of coolant. He filled the cube halfway while his carrier shuffled back to the living area, embarrassment now mixed with a nearly undetectable amount of guilt in his field. There wasn't enough for Prowl to comment on, but it was still there.

Of course his carrier would feel guilty. He already felt guilty that there was absolutely nothing he or Prowl's Sire could do to help him, despite the fact that not even trained medical professionals had been able to help Prowl. It was ridiculous, but Prowl was grateful for the concern in an irate, somewhat irritated way.

Half a cube of stale coolant was a far cry from a full cube of fresh energon, but he would make do. Energon, fresh or not, wasn't an option right then, and wouldn't be for the rest of that cycle.

The second he placed the cube on the counter to be washed later, his carrier's voice floated from the other room. “You'd better wash that now.”

Prowl's doorwings lifted in surprise. How on Cybertron had he heard the glass from over there, and facing the opposite direction? His doorwings weren't even tilted to focus on Prowl.

Obviously his carrier wasn't feeling too guilty about jumping to conclusions. A glance at the chronometer on the wall told him that he still had plenty of time before he had to be at the Temple.

Fine.

He took the cube outside to the well and wash basin, very careful to avoid letting the door slam on its hinges as he left. As he was filling the basin, a sudden discomfort from his tank had him doubling over and clutching at his abdomen.

With energon, the pill's decompression wasn't nearly so uncomfortable. The pressurized supplements would be absorbed easily into the composition of energon, but with coolant the decompression was similar to a small explosion that filled his otherwise empty tank. That wasn't an exaggeration, either. First Aid had told him how it worked.

Ventilations coming in short, sharp gasps, Prowl grit his denta together and forced himself to straighten. Even though the cramping was uncomfortable now, it would take _[thirty-seven percent]_ longer to pass if he were to remain doubled over.

_What?_

Prowl checked his memory banks, trying to recall when he had made that calculation.

He hadn't. He hadn't made the calculation earlier, either. Why hadn't he caught it then?

But there they were, side by side in his HUD, displaying themselves proudly for him to see.

_[Eighty-seven percent]_ probable that he would be within normal functioning parameters by the end of the Sanction. _[Thirty-seven percent]_ longer for the cramp to pass in a certain position.

Prowl stood there, cube still in his hand, wash basin full, puzzling where these two absurd calculations had come from and why he hadn't caught the first one when it happened. As he was pondering, another calculation popped up.

_[Seventy-three percent]_ likely that his processor had still been rebooting at the time.

Then two other calculations, attached to the one before.

_[Twenty-six percent]_ likely that he had been distracted by his helm-ache.

_[Less than one percent]_ likely that he hadn't noticed the calculation for an undetermined reason.

Prowl staggered before clamping his hand on the edge of the basin to catch himself, not registering the sharp edge cutting into his palm. His processor was spinning and he felt dizzy, ready to purge.

Likelihood of purging: _[fifteen percent]_

His legs gave out and he collapsed. The basin edge cut deeper into his palm and trails of energon slicked down the side. Any pain that registered was eclipsed by the numbers slowly covering his internal HUD.

As he watched though, his HUD reset, and one of the calculations disappeared, only to be replaced by a message alerting him that the cramps in his tank had passed.

The message faded, no longer relevant, and Prowl noticed his position.

He let out a hiss of pain as he forced his servo to relax so that he could remove it from the edge of the basin. Pain flared up from the wound causing his hand to throb, and new rivulets of energon coated his forearm. He stared for a moment, processing the pain biting its way up his arm before shaking himself.

Prowl looked around for any sort of medical supplies. There were none. He was in the small empty lot of space that called itself a yard. Anything that would constitute as 'medical supplies' were in the habsuite. He bit his lip, trying to think of something to do or use to ebb the flow of energon.

Several more droplets of energon fell when Prowl pushed himself up off his knees. He held his injured palm close to his chassis, careful to avoid smearing the energon on his plating. If his carrier saw it, he'd call off the Sanction, and Prowl was already going on two weeks after the original Sanction date. The helm-aches had interrupted last time, just as they'd interrupted so much else. He couldn't even properly go see a medic or a code specialist because he wasn't considered a full-frame adult until after he was sanctioned. Even if he had already been given his final upgrades, the Sanction would cement his standing as a full citizen. Medics and code specialists couldn't diagnose him legally, because as long as the condition wasn't life-threatening, they weren't allowed to perform invasive surgery when it concerned his processor. They had tried to diagnose his condition, but because it hadn't been deemed life-threatening, the medics were stuck using tools and examinations they would use for a sparkling. So they couldn't even truly diagnose him much less treat whatever the problem was.

It wasn't just medical matters that the helm-aches had interrupted, either. Prowl had been forced to stay home from the academy on more than one occasion because of them. He'd managed to stay caught up on all of his courses so far, but he was very close to falling behind. Time spent with friends, what few he had, was also affected. He'd been forced to cancel plans multiple times, and had begun to avoid making future plans because of the likelihood that he'd end up canceling anyway.

In short, Prowl was fed up with it.

The Sanction would help. Prowl wasn't sure how, but it involved the processor, so logically it would at least alter the conditions of the problem. Besides, many others who had already been Sanctioned had described it as “being reforged in the light of Primus.” It had to help.

Even if it didn't though, the first thing Prowl would do after the Sanction would be to schedule appointments with Perceptor and Ambulon. If the Sanction didn't fix the problem, then it would at least allow him to diagnose it.

But Prowl had to get to the Sanction first. The medical supplies he needed were in the habsuite. His creator was in the habsuite.

Prowl's vocalizer whined with his frustration. He couldn't go in and risk his creator seeing. If that happened, the Sanction would be put off again.

He looked around for another option, and his optics fell on the wash basin.

Stepping closer, Prowl lowered his servo towards the still surface of the water. If he washed the energon off and somehow stemmed the flow, he could go in and get a bandage without being noticed. His fingertips had barely touched the surface when another bothersome message popped up on his HUD.

Risk of rust infection: _[ninety-eight percent]_

That made Prowl pause. If his protoform was exposed and came into contact with water, he _would_ get a rust infection.

Prowl withdrew his fingers from the washbasin and clamped his other servo over the gash on his palm. He ignored the extra flare of pain the added pressure caused, and looked for another option.

Half expecting a message on his HUD, he looked around for the glass that had found its way out of his grasp. He saw a glint of light from inside the basin, and a closer look confirmed the presence of the glass.

At least it was clean.

Very gently Prowl eased his servo away from his palm. He had been expecting a rush of energon, but when none came forth he forced himself to look.

The gash wasn't nearly as big as it felt. In fact, it was only an inch long, going diagonally across the soft plates of his palm. His protoform wasn't exposed either, which was a relief. However, Prowl could see the neatly severed end of a small energon line between the edges of two plates. If water got into his conduits, it could very well cause rust, though when his auto-repair pinged that it had closed off that line Prowl felt a surge of relief.

The message on his HUD flickered once, then rewrote itself.

Risk of rust infection: _[less than two percent]_ Less than two percent was normal, and was caused from the presence and vicinity of water instead of the risk an open conduit would pose.

With this new information Prowl reached into the basin and removed the now-clean cube and set it on a clean bench covered in a dry towel. Regardless of how low two percent was, Prowl really didn't want to risk an infection. Despite the message from his auto-repair and the statistical data intruding on his HUD, he wasn't exactly eager to plunge his arm into a basin full of cold water. Instead, he scooped water onto his forearm and scrubbed to get the coagulating energon off. He had to repeat the action a few times before he was satisfied, then moved to dip his fingers into the water and scrubbing the area immediately around the gash.

When he was finished, the wound was much less noticeable. There was still some pink noticeable in the cracks between the plating, but nothing short of a thorough soaking from an actual shower or bath would remove that. If he kept his palm towards his frame while he was around his carrier, he might be able to sneak a bandage. He might even be able to use some of the repair nanites they had been stocking up on to push the full repair along.

It wasn't a serious injury, or even remotely painful anymore. However, Prowl wanted to thoroughly remove any reason his carrier would have to postpone the Sanction yet again. With a check over the rest of his frame for any stray energon, he took the clean cube in hand and started back towards the habsuite.

With one more check of his HUD, he dismissed most of the calculations.

When they'd first appeared, he'd thought of them as a problem—a product of the helm-aches and further evidence that his frame was damaged or malfunctioning.

But they'd saved him from a potentially serious rust infection.

The calculations, even though Prowl still couldn't figure out how they were in his HUD if he hadn't made them, might not be a bad thing.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Kneeling in his darkened quarters, helm bowed to a crystal figurine in the likeness of Primus, Starscream wrenched himself out of the trance that he'd fallen into.

Small bursts of light from the magnesium-infused incense danced across the surface of the statue. In his trance he'd noticed a fluctuation in the electrical frequencies. They tended to gather around the Temple's metal spires, and he had learned to read them as easily as he would a datapad. The fluctuation had been faint, but had signified something. Or rather, someone.

Someone important.

Rising to his peds, graceful as always, Starscream turned and strode out of the small room. He went through the rest of his living space and came to a stop in front of a large shelf containing his personal datapads, interspersed with a few ancient books.

Pulling a very specific book off the highest shelf, Starscream carefully opened it to the section he wanted.

Skimming through the lines of ancient wisdom, Starscream frowned. His frown deepened as he turned a delicate page, then another, and another before closing the book and shoving it back on the shelf.

Even in his slightly less ancient days, Alpha Trion had harbored a certain fondness for words. The only thing he'd been able to glean from the massively wordy and overly eloquent text was the title of this new person.

Prophet.

With a sigh, Starscream pulled on his satiny robe before approaching the communications relay mounted on the wall.

He scrolled past several designations, finger pausing when one came into view.

Starscream bit his lip. He wanted to call the Templar and discus this with him before he talked to anyone else about it. But he didn't yet know what it was he would be discussing. All he had was a title that sounded vaguely familiar.

No. He could call after. He could call when he knew what he was talking about, and when Megatronus would actually have time to stop by in person and discuss it with him. Then they could “discuss” a few other things as well.

A smirk settled on Starscream's lips at the thought, and he scrolled past to find the young historian he'd managed to wrench away from Alpha Trion's greedy servos. It had taken vorns of arguing, planning, and executing, but the Temple finally had an archivist of its own. Starscream finally had an archivist.

At long last, Starscream could make certain _inquiries_ without having to explain his interest to the Council, or without having to phrase his question or order a certain way so as to avoid unnecessary attention.

Starscream started the call. It would go to the communications relay in the archives, if that's where the bot was.

The beauty of the Temple's comm. system was that if he called a certain bot, the call would be forwarded to the relay that was closest to that bot. The call wouldn't go to an empty living space or to an empty office. It would follow the bot, and Starscream didn't have to deal with the inconvenience of trying to figure out where someone was. It was much more convenient than sending a messenger, or going himself to give a summons.

The call was answered, and the librarian's red and blue helm swam into view. Starscream plastered a warm smile on his faceplates before greeting the mech. “Orion Pax. What do you know about prophets?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave encounters something strange and unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential warning for this chapter. This is where the telepathy gone wrong tag comes into play, so if you're wary about that once you get to the first line of Xs skip to the second line.

Soundwave stepped into the room, trying his best not to appear nervous. Despite his efforts, Ravage had insisted on walking around on the physical plane more than usual lately. Her presence tended to make the others uncomfortable, and it was the only thing he could think of that would make Starscream summon him. It was unlikely the High Seeker would listen to what pleas he could make in his defense, and Soundwave had already braced himself for the inevitable verbal lashing.

Ravage meowed, as Soundwave was incapable of announcing his presence with his own voice. When the High Seeker noticed him, he smiled. That was never a good sign.

“Soundwave. Punctual as ever.” Starscream's grating voice was for once pleasant, and an expression that couldn't be described as any variation of a smirk graced his faceplates. In fact, Starscream's entire stance was … not friendly. Soundwave had never observed Starscream doing anything truly _friendly_. But his stance, the way he walked the few steps across the room to greet Soundwave, and his unusually non-hostile expression was as close as Soundwave suspected it would ever get to friendly. Or at least tolerant. It was hard to tell with the Seeker.

Soundwave ignored Ravage's urgent suggestions over the bond to run for his life and instead dropped to his knee and bowed his helm in the expected greeting before straightening again. Ravage flicked her tail in minute acknowledgment before settling comfortably behind Soundwave's legs to lick her paw in the expected arrogance.

Starscream's optics slid to the familiar, and he frowned. However, instead of sneering in disdain or disgust, or screeching that the Temple was no place for such a monster, he merely huffed his vents a bit. His optics returned to Soundwave's visor and he opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by another voice from the corridor.

“High Seeker, you--” The owner of the voice rounded the door frame and froze immediately after entering to avoid running into Soundwave, who was still just barely inside the room.

Fighting back the shiver that he felt at having Megatronus' warmth so close behind him, Soundwave ducked his helm and stepped quickly to the side in order to allow his superior room to enter.

Ravage, of course, remained where she was and looked up at Megatronus questioningly with helm tilted and audials perked in confusion. After determining who exactly had disturbed her, she once again returned attention to her paw. That wouldn't do. The cat already thought she was Primus.

_::Ravage!::_

With a halfhearted huff of irritation across their bond, she rose and dragged her small frame exactly one foot to the left before flopping, exhausted, to the ground again. At least she didn't snarl or hiss at the other Templar, if only because she felt Soundwave's mortification through the bond and decided she had humiliated him enough for now. Either that, or furthering his embarrassment in front of Megatronus was too much effort. Really, it could be either one with her. 

Soundwave glanced at Megatronus, who had frozen again after nearly running into Soundwave's back with one foot still suspended in the air in order to avoid stepping on Ravage. Soundwave had been expecting the handsome faceplates to be wearing an angry scowl, but saw instead an amused half-smile. 

Megatronus cleared his vocalizer and set his foot down carefully. “You summoned me?” 

Starscream crossed his arms over his chassis. “I did. Soundwave, I have an assignment for you.” 

The smirk that followed sent chills down Soundwave's spine. 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Soundwave watched from across the room as the young Praxian entered the Temple, a slight flutter of doorwings betraying the nervousness he had obviously taken care to keep out of the rest of his frame. He was the only Sanction scheduled for that day, and would therefore be getting all the High Seeker's attention. Ever since Starcream's so-called revelation about the arrival of a prophet, every Sanction had been performed by the High Seeker personally. Not even his trinemates had performed any. 

The Praxian's creators were present as well, hovering behind their creation protectively, though they would not be present for the actual ceremony. 

Starscream even greeted them personally. He introduced himself with a smile that made Soundwave's tank churn from how completely false he knew it was. 

Of course, all three Praxians ate it up. He  _was_ the High Seeker after all. Servos were shaken, smiles were exchanged, and the young Praxian's creators were escorted to a separate room where they would spend the duration of the ceremony. Starscream led the young bot to the private sanctuary, and Soundwave followed at a short distance. 

_“I have an assignment for you.”_

An assignment. That's what he'd called it. 

Starscream hadn't even given him the option to decline. It was an order, one that went directly against the vows that Starscream himself had overseen. An order, poorly disguised as a mission from Primus, to use the curse that he'd sworn himself off of for the rest of his function. Starscream didn't even believe in Primus anymore, and it didn't take telepathy to figure it out. 

Upon arriving at the sanctuary, the pair entered. Instead of entering after them, Soundwave moved around to the back of the circular room. The private sanctuary they used for sanctions was located at the center of the Temple, directly over the relic chamber in the basement and directly under the statue of Primus on the floor above. As such, the room was circular and completely detached from other rooms. From the door that the two others had entered though, it looked to be a half-circle, set against and bisected by one of the main walls for the corridors.

Soundwave moved down one of the corridors and entered an inconspicuous door, which led in the opposite direction towards the back of the room. The door that Soundwave entered through led to a hidden portion of the room. The two areas were separated by a very thin mesh that allowed sound to flow freely between them. 

That's all processor waves were in his opinion, really. Compressed sound. 

Soundwave kneeled silently, listening to the chanting of the High Seeker. There were no seats or cushions, so he folded his legs beneath him and rested his servos on his thighs. He heard the sound of sparks, and the smell of incense wafted between the rooms.

The young Praxian joined in the chant, at the instruction of Starscream. They were simple words, spoken in old Cybertronian, and held no power. Even if Luna One was present in the sky, the words wouldn’t have any power, not like the blessings that were bestowed upon the Templars. It was a simple plea to Primus for renewed life and a pledge of dedication. 

Soundwave took a deep in-vent. His servos were shaking against the plating of his thigh. 

A shaky ex-vent, and another deep in-vent. He held the air in his vents for a few kliks, before forcing himself to release it in a long, smooth breath. 

Soundwave squeezed his optics closed, and allowed the firewalls he'd placed around his processor fall away. 

He felt his familiars around him, surrounding him even through the Veil. He embraced them, welcomed their support, and thanked them for it through the bond. In response, Ravage stepped through the Veil into physical reality. Her warmth pressed against his side eased some of the tension in his spark, and he could feel Laserbeak's weight on his shoulder.

He allowed his awareness to spread into the next room, towards the other bots. As soon as their own processors were detectable, he was assaulted by hundreds of lines of code. Their own firewalls, attempting to keep him out without even realizing it. 

Recognizing Starscream's code signature in one of the firewalls, Soundwave removed himself from the code barrier and focused on the other bot's. The mental barrier was shaky at best, undoubtedly a side affect of still-integrating code, and allowed him to slip past the firewall easily.

To a point, it still sickened him how easy it was to invade another bot's processor. He had almost purged his tanks the first Sanction. Now, Soundwave felt only a quiver of unease in his abdomen before he was pulled from his own frame and into the Praxian's processor. 

Soundwave found himself surrounded on all sides by the Praxian. His thoughts, his nervousness, his desperation, everything withing the bot's processor was open to Soundwave. 

It was exhilarating. Soundwave could even sense the bot's opinion of the scent of incense Starscream had lit. 

Thoughts swirled around the processor in a whirlwind that tugged him in a thousand different directions, yet at the same time compressed him into a tiny string of foreign code from the sheer amount of activity. 

Soundwave was caught up in the beautifully organized chaos for what felt like an eternity. A careful nudge from Laserbeak from across the bond brought him back to his own senses. Coupled with Laserbeak's concern was a tidal wave of cheeky smugness from Ravage, reminding him none-too-gently of the disastrous results of the first Sanction he'd monitored. He'd allowed himself to become swept up in the bot's consciousness and the intensity of being in the other's mind had actually translated into physical pleasure in his own frame. It had taken a humiliating and disastrous end result to draw him back to his own senses. 

He couldn't risk responding, not even over the bond, without drawing the bot's attention. However, when he got a grip on himself, his familiars' presences in the bond eased back. 

With metaphorical feet under him again, Soundwave filtered through the half-formed thought processes swirling around him until he found something.

_Prowl._

The bot's designation. It was strange for someone to consciously think of themselves with such focus. However, because of the Sanction, Soundwave supposed a strong sense of identity or self-awareness would be present. He hadn't noticed such a strong sense of self in any of the other bots being sanctioned though. 

Determining there was nothing else to be found, Soundwave shifted deeper into the bot's—Prowl's—helm into the realm of subconscious. Prowl wouldn't know whether or not he was a prophet, so any evidence to confirm or deny would be unconscious. 

Despite knowing where to look, Soundwave didn't know what he was looking for. He'd never seen the mind of a prophet. There hadn't been one since there had been a true Primus-chosen Prime, and there hadn't been a Prime in thousands of years. 

Pushing through the folds of Prowl's mind, he sank to the deepest point, where basic instincts and dormant protocols lay. If there was any evidence to prove this bot a prophet, this is where it would be. 

_Pain._ It clawed at him, screamed at him through this stranger's thoughts, dragged him to a layer deeper even than the most base survival protocols and trapped him there. 

The pain filled him, invaded his own mind and forced itself upon him so forcefully that he didn't notice the firewalls Prowl's processor had started building to trap him there until it was too late to stop them. 

Crippled as he was from the overwhelming weight of fiery white-hot pain, Soundwave couldn't even tear the firewalls down. He struggled to escape through the quickly narrowing gaps in the code, but he couldn't. 

His struggles ceased when he felt the attention of every single available line of processing power turned to him. 

No bot had ever felt him. Even with his limited experience gained solely from the Sanctions, Soundwave had not once been noticed. He hadn't even been noticed the disastrous first time. 

Soundwave realized the bot's HUD was clearly visible from his prison. With the thoughts and code so perfectly aligned, Soundwave could see everything in the bot's processor. The different layers of consciousness weren't distinguishable, and Soundwave felt icy fear lace his spark when he realized that there were no more layers of consciousness. There was only him and Prowl. 

Soundwave watched with dread as a message traveled from somewhere deeper even that him and displayed itself on Prowl's HUD. 

_[Logic Center online]_

Prowl's processor filled with a sick, venomous satisfaction at the arrival of the message. 

_[Battle Computer online]_

Soundwave felt the intent fill Prowl's processor and if he were still in his own frame he would have purged. He was going to offline, he was sure of it. 

Pinions of malicious code appeared, intent on removing him from Prowl's processor one way or another. A bot this young, and a civilian bot at that, should not have such software. Almost idly, Soundwave realized that if there would ever be evidence to prove this bot a prophet, this would be it. 

Another message appeared on Prowl's HUD, and the code stopped. 

_[Reboot necessary]_

What little relief Soundwave had felt at the arrival of the message was ripped away when he watched Prowl decline, and return all attention to him. 

The malicious code had faded, useless without the battle computer online. Prowl's processor became active again, no longer focuses solely on him, and Soundwave allowed himself to hope that maybe he'd been forgotten. 

Then he watched the active lines of thought and realized what Prowl was doing. 

Processing lines were focused on him, but not on his presence in Prowl's mind. Chunks of data were strung together faster than Soundwave had thought possible. Commands to move entered the vortex of thought, and visual data followed soon after. 

Soundwave watched the command sequences for less than a second before his panic rose higher than it had previously been and he screamed across his bond for his familiars to get away. 

Prowl had tracked the signal of his consciousness back to his own frame, where Ravage and Laserbeak were. The others would be safe if the stayed behind the Veil, but knowing them they'd make some fool's attempt at heroism and try to protect him. 

A stream of optical input was directed at him in some cruel joke and Soundwave, immobilized as he was, had no choice but to watch. He saw the thin mesh of wall tear ridiculously easily under Prowl's fingers, exposing the frail metal frame used to keep it in place. Jagged edges glinted under the soft light of the candles and incense. 

_Get out._

Soundwave flinched at the clarity of the thought directed at him. It held no inflection, no rage or hatred or evil intent. It didn't need to. 

Prowl was speaking to him, through his thoughts. He was using Soundwave's telepathic projection against him, simply by forming a complete thought. In any other scenario, Soundwave would have been impressed. 

Through the gaping hole in the false wall, Prowl pinpointed Soundwave's frame. He was still kneeling calmly, with his hands on his thighs and helm bowed. Nothing in his frame gave any hint of the desperate panic that he felt. 

A disturbance in the air around his frame drew Prowl's attention. Soundwave was flooded with despair when not only Ravage, but all of his familiars stepped through and surrounded him protectively. Rumble grasping his hammers desperately, Frenzy mirroring his twin on the other side of Soundwave gripping his blades with solemn determination. Ravage was crouched defensively in front of him, tail lashing and fangs bared in a snarl. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw had taken up positions on either of his shoulders, both with their wings outstretched and talons drawing the suddenly sharp light. 

Upon seeing them so determined to fight, Prowl was calm. A sequence of maneuvers came together in Prowl's mind, and the feeling of utter helplessness flooded Soundwave again. He begged across the bond for them to leave, but was met with a solid wall and a flood of loyalty. 

Ravage pounced, and was abruptly flung into the sharp and jagged edges of the mesh. Drops of energon splattered to the floor, and Soundwave struggled desperately to think of something to do. 

_Get out!_

This time it was screeched at him with the force of Prowl's entire processor. Rumble yelled and hefted his hammers, while Frenzy dove forward. Commands to shift his stance flew around Soundwave and he knew even without seeing the visual feed that they were incapacitated just as easily. 

Soundwave watched Laserbeak flap her wings in preparation. There had to something he could do to save them. He was in the bot's  _processor_ , for Pit's sake! 

The visual feed showed arclets of fresh energon fly off of Prowl's forearm as he swatted Laserbeak to the ground, and Soundwave could only think of one option. 

He struggled to free himself of the code. He had to do this quickly, before Prowl noticed and immobilized him again. 

_[Reboot? Y/N]_

Soundwave struggled harder when he felt Prowl's attention return to him. 

_Don't you dare._

Tactical input indicated Prowl had taken one of Frenzy's blades in hand, and the visual feed of Ravage's bleeding frame gave Soundwave enough mental strength to throw off the oppressive code. 

In a singe-minded, desperate effort Soundwave forced himself through the firewalls towards Prowl's HUD and slammed his processor into shutdown. 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

It was only because of Ravage's weight on his chassis that Soundwave finally threw off the warm blanket of sleep. He'd felt either Laserbeak or Buzzsaw, one of the two, pecking and poking at his helm. He'd ignored them, figuring that if they were hungry they knew how to hunt. They'd insisted, and he'd groggily pushed at them through the bond to let him sleep. That worked most mornings. 

They'd persisted however, and the small tugs on both of his hands had pulled him further from the bliss of unconsciousness. 

Ravage leaping up onto his chassis and plopping herself down had knocked the wind from his vents and wrenched him into the unapologetically bright world of wakefulness. She wasn't really all that heavy, but she was still bigger than the majority of feline mechanoids. Certainly a lot denser. 

Soundwave stared into her face, inches from his own, and let his ire be known across the bond. What was so important that they couldn't just let him sleep another week? As tired as he was, he had no doubt that a single day would be nowhere near long enough. They could no doubt feel his exhaustion too, over the bond. 

But why was it so bright? Soundwave looked around the room and through squinted optics quickly discovered that it was not his own. He took in the various medical tools and supplies, and noted through dividing panels the other berths neatly arranged in rows. He was in the medbay. 

Okay, that made sense. He probably wouldn't feel like such slag if he was healthy, and it probably wasn't actually morning, which would explain why his familiars hadn't let him sleep. He sent a wave of apology through the bond, which was mutually returned by most everyone. Ravage, of course, simply curled up on his chest plates and sent a wave of /comfortable/ across. If she was trying to irritate him, whatever he was in the medbay for probably wasn't that bad. 

Soundwave placed a hand on her back to steady her and pushed himself into a sitting position. She adjusted accordingly, and sprawled out in his lap. 

A protest from one of his sides caught his attention. He looked down and saw Rumble, having to squint his optics even more against the harsh light reflecting off his plating. “Take it easy, boss.” Concern flooded over from Rumble's side of the bond. 

Soundwave felt a tug on his other hand, the one not placed on Ravage, and looked over to see Frenzy. He was grasping Soundwave's one hand with both of his own, and looked up with pleading optics. He mirrored Rumble's concern over the bond, and sent an urge to lie back down and rest. “Yeah, the healer said to rest, so you have to.” 

Soundwave opened his mouth to continue, feeling the air brush against his faceplates as he inhaled to speak, but was cut off by Laserbeak suddenly filling his vision. Instead of voicing any complaints, he exhaled softly instead. She gave a soft squawk of agreement, and moved her upside-down beak in a rough nod. A small shake of his head did nothing to dislodge her from her perch, though it did prompt a ruffle of wing plating. Soundwave quickly came to the conclusion that she wasn't leaving his helm any time soon, and turned his attention to the soft weight on his shoulder. 

Buzzsaw rubbed his beak along Soundwave's jaw and tapped a talon against his collar fairing. It was astonishingly rare for the bird to show such open affection, and the response made Soundwave wonder if his earlier reassurances were too hasty. Even though he'd known Ravage far longer than any of the others, her behaviour still baffled him. 

Looking around, Soundwave was grateful for their warmth surrounding him and seeping across the bond. It had been far too long since they'd all been across the Veil at once. The Temple barely tolerated one of them being present, let alone all five. 

It was nice, but a sharp glint from Buzzsaw's talons brought his attention back to how bright it was. The medbay was fairly bright on most occasions. It had to have good lighting in order for the medics to be able to do anything effectively, but even when the sun was at its highest point it was quite this bright. 

Evidently Ravage felt his confusion. Instead of simply giving whatever answer she had though, she stood and stretched up to look at him optic to optic. Soundwave stared into her face, inches from his, waiting for an explanation. 

She exhaled through her small nasal ridge, blowing warm air over his faceplates. The sensation felt strange, but Soundwave still didn't understand what she was trying to say. He sent another small pulse of confusion, met with a wave of amusement. 

She leaned closer, balancing on her hind legs and placing her front paws on Soundwave's chest plates for balance. Her shoulder struts were hunched together from her position, and she strained to lean even closer. There was an intensity in her optics that Soundwave was captivated by. He was so entranced by the way she was staring into him that he didn't feel the barely stifled amusement from the others. 

Ravage darted her helm forward and licked a swath up his cheek and over his optic. He shuttered his optic lids tightly closed against the rough and unpleasant texture of her tongue, and it clicked. 

A cry of dismay found its way out of his uncovered lips, and Soundwave looked around wildly for his visor. He slid his battle mask into its proper place over his mouth and nasal ridge, but his visor was missing. Ravage darted away to avoid his suddenly hectic movements, dismay of her own sliding its way across their bond. 

Soundwave didn't notice her dismay, or any of the others'. He was focused on finding his visor. How long had he been like that? How long had he been lying in the berth, unconscious, completely uncovered, where anyone could walk in and see him without his mask? 

He could feel the panic rising. It was roiling in his tanks, threatening to make him purge. That would explain why it was so bright. Normally his visor cut the amount of light to reach his oversensitive optics to a more bearable level. 

Soundwave pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Ravage's protests. He stumbled forward on shaking legs, intent on finding his visor. A few shaking steps later Frenzy claimed his arm again and pulled him to a stop. “It's fine, boss. We've got you. You don't have to hide from us.” 

Frenzy's optics were so open and trusting. Whatever rebuttal Soundwave had intended to say was brutally cut off before it could form. He knew he could be open with them. They knew he enjoyed being open with them. They could feel his joy and relief in the bond whenever he was. 

But right now they were in the medbay, where bots came in and out of all the time. It wasn't a safe place to be open. 

The sound of a door opening had Soundwave's helm snapping away to search for the source of it. Across the medbay, barely visible between the dividing panels, was Starscream with a bandage wrapped around one shoulder. 

A new surge of panic made his spark weak. He absolutely could not be around the High Seeker without his visor. His visor was the biggest reason Starscream hadn't killed him or thrown him out when Ravage appeared, and it was the only thing that allowed him to stay at the Temple in the first place. As long as he didn't pry on the thoughts of other mechanisms, and as long as he didn't express his own thoughts, he was allowed to be a Templar. That had been the vow that Starscream oversaw. To face the Seeker without it would mean his immediate termination. 

Soundwave turned back to the medical berth. Laserbeak was the only one still physically there, nestled in the thermal blanket he'd thrown off in his haste. He hadn't noticed when she'd removed herself from his head, or that the others had all retreated back through the Veil when Starscream appeared. Soundwave sent a brief pulse of gratitude through the bond before returning his attention to Laserbeak. 

When his gaze returned to her, Laserbeak hopped to the surface of the berthside table and tapped her beak against a cube of energon. Beside the medical grade cube was a piece of amber colored crystal, lying on top of a datapad. 

His visor had been right next to him the whole time while he'd been freaking out and stumbling around like a drunkard. 

Visor hastily snapped in place, the uncomfortable amount of light became closer to what he was used to and he relaxed his optic lids. Relief flooded him now that his visor was where it belonged, and Soundwave picked up that datapad. It was small, designed mainly for notes and maybe a few files. It was nowhere near the capacity of the more modern datapads, which could store hundreds of bytes of file data. 

He onlined the pad, and the display showed a simple memo. 

_Couldn't get this back on. - Megatronus_

Soundwave's spark fluttered a bit at the note. Megatronus had attempted to put replace his visor. He'd seen Soundwave without it. That could be very bad. It could also be very good if Megatronus wasn't repulsed the next time he saw Soundwave. 

He couldn't dwell on that now though. Starscream had spotted him, and Soundwave had made the mistake of meeting his optics. He sat down again on the edge of the berth, Laserbeak remaining on the table, and tried to remember why he was in the medbay. 

It was a good thing he was sitting down when the memories cascaded over him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That turned out a lot darker than I'd intended. For anyone that skipped, there will be a sort of recap or convo or something that fills in plot gaps without going into too much detail in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen. Starscream is mad, Megatronus is mad, Sentinel is sticking his chin in places shouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say that Sentinel is probably out of character to some degree. He is very hard for me to write, which is also why this chapter took so long.

Megatronus thanked Hook grimly before closing the door and returning the way he had come.

That had been disastrous.

He'd had his doubts when Starscream had given the order to observe the Sanctions. He hadn't bothered to question Starscream's false claim about a message from Primus. It hadn't been worth the fight.

But he should have objected to Starscream's order to Soundwave, if for no other reason than for the sake of his vows. Starscream himself had overseen those vows! They were the only reason the Council had allowed Soundwave to live.

Megatronus hadn't realized that the bot's telepathy was the only reason _Starscream_ had allowed him to live. Soundwave had shown up at the Temple door in those early days when Megatronus still believed Starscream actually had faith, and by the time Megatronus knew better Soundwave had already become a part of the Temple.

He should have objected when Starscream had allowed Soundwave to stay after his first familiar showed up. Familiars were very clearly arcane beings, and the presence of one in the Temple went against everything the Seekers taught and everything the Templars fought for. But Starscream had made some grand speech about mercy for the innocent, and Shockwave had piped up about how familiars didn't actively practice the arcane arts. For all that they were arcane beings, they didn't actively participate in the use of magic, so they weren't considered the same _type_ of arcane beings as some others, as Shockwave had said.

Now, four more familiars and a lot of lies on Starscream's part later, Soundwave was in the Temple's medbay. According to Hook, he'd have to stay there for at least the next week.

Megatronus paused at the door to the High Seeker's quarters. The memory of Soundwave's limp frame flashed behind his optics. He'd been completely unconscious, and when Megatronus had carried him to the medbay his frame had been nearly devoid of warmth. The only indication of life was a weak pulse of energon through one of the main conduits in his neck. It had taken one of the thickest conduits in his frame for Megatronus to detect that pulse.

Soundwave was still alive though. Despite how very dead he'd felt in Megatronus's arms, Hook had promised that he was alive and would stay that way.

Megatronus took a steadying breathe and pulled the door open.

 

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

Sentinel Magnus stepped into the High Seeker's quarters and cleared his intake. The small sound was evidently lost in Megatronus's thundering shout, so he coughed into a fist. The louder sound caught the other Templar's and Starscream's attention, and they both immediately stopped their attempts to throttle each other.

He wasn't at all surprised to see them glaring at each other, and wasn't in the least intimidated when they turned those glares on him. He hadn't been surprised to hear them at the far end of the corridor, either.

“Sentinel. Glad you finally showed up.” Not even Starscream's biting disdain was surprising, or even effective any more. Sentinel had been around the Temple too long to be offended by the High Seeker's temper.

“Starscream.” He gave a casual nod of greeting before turning and glancing at the glowering grey Templar. “I take it this morning's Sanction was eventful.” Sentinel eyed the bandage spread over Starscream's shoulder strut. It was wrapped around his torso, just above where his cockpit began and pulled taught under the opposite shoulder. A slight smear of pink was visible through the heavy fabric.

It probably wasn't smart to rile the Seeker up any more, judging by the way his wings flared out aggressively. However, Sanctions didn't usually end in a bandaged Seeker.

“Yes, that's why you're here.” It was stated with an air of superiority that surpassed Starscream's usual level. “It was a Praxian mech named Prowl. His Sire is a Templar here.” Starscream had begun pacing, walking back and forth in the spacious quarters with that annoying sway to his hips that was only present when he was truly slagged off.

Sentinel listened to the repetitive explanation about a so-called 'message from Primus' about the arrival of a prophet. He listened to the explanation of how Soundwave had been observing the Sanctions, and let a scoff slip from his vocalizer. Sentinel had been the one Starscream ordered to rearrange the scheduled Sanctions so that the Seeker could perform them personally.

He didn't try to hide his optic roll at the mention of Soundwave either. Sentinel had argued fiercely when he showed up on the Temple's doorstep that a telepath was dangerous. When the glitch's familiars showed up, he'd been absolutely shocked that Soundwave wasn't immediately removed from the Temple or killed. Having monsters roaming freely within the very structure that fought so very hard to keep others safe from such Pit-spawned creatures was just insulting.

When Starscream mentioned that morning's Sanction again, Sentinel jerked himself back to awareness. He hadn't realized he's stopped paying attention. It was, after all, surprisingly easy to block out such an unpleasant noise.

“We had just finished the chant and I had put the oil on his helm and over his spark when he went limp. He woke up again and completely ignored me, except for this--” Starscream gestured angrily towards the bandage pressing between the joints on his shoulder, “--and went straight through the wall, _straight through the fragging wall_ , to attack Soundwave.” Starsceam's voice, which had started the rant as an unpleasant grating, had risen to truly impressive volumes. Sentinel wondered not for the first time if that was how he got his designation.

“Soundwave?” Sentinel let himself hope that maybe he wouldn't have to bear the insult of seeing the mech in the Temple anymore.

Starscream stopped pacing, and rubbed a hand over his facepates. “He's in the medbay, and Hook says he'll be fine.” Sentinel pushed aside his disappointment and focused on keeping the scowl from showing on his faceplates. “I talked to him.”

Taking his cue, Megatronus stood. “He said that Prowl was the Prophet. While he was watching, something called a battle computer and a logic center came online in his processor. Prowl was also the only Sanction to notice Soundwave, so if that doesn't prove it I don't know what would.”

Starscream cut in again. “There are no processor programs that go by those names, and neither creator has any mods to begin with. So it would only make sense to say that he's the prophet.”

Sentinel blinked and felt a frown spread over his face. He'd listened to Starscream's explanation of what exactly a prophet was, and had overheard the librarian's overly enthusiastic and overly lengthy explanation, but he still didn't understand what having a living prophet meant.

“Where is he?” Right now, Sentinel thought the most important thing was to keep the mech contained until they could figure out what to do with him.

Starscream shot a glance at Megatronus, who returned it before clearing his vocalizer. “Soundwave said he had to force a reboot--”

“And when he onlined again, he didn't remember anything. He doesn't know what happened, and keeping him here would only give him a reason not to trust us.” Starscream crossed his arms over his chassis, mindful of the bandage.

Sentinel had to fight the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. He hadn't know that Soundwave could force a bot into shutdown, and hearing it from Starscream's vocalizer only served to further his resolve that the bot shouldn't be in the Temple.

Something else that Starscream said caught up to Sentinel. “He isn't in the Temple?”

Megatronus laid a hand on Sentinel's shoulder strut. When had he gotten so close? “He doesn't remember anything from the ceremony, except for blacking out. He thought it was from a helm-ache, and we let him believe that. If he is a prophet, we need him to trust us. He doesn't know what he is, and if we keep him here without telling him it'll make him suspicious.”

Sentinel nodded. He supposed that made sense. If the little bot was suspicious of the Temple, he'd be of absolutely no use. A prophet was an important tool, that much he was sure of.

Seeing his nod, Starscream sniffed haughtily. “Good. Go tell the librarian. He needs to record this.”

 

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

The three Praxians disappeared through the Temple's main doors, and Barricade turned to return to his post. He'd been grabbed earlier by Megatronus and rushed to the room used for Sanctions. Apparently, something had happened.

When he'd gotten there, the young Praxian had been sprawled on the ground, splatters of energon dotting his frame. Soundwave's familiars had been lying limp around the room, and the High Seeker was clutching his shoulder.

A jumble of orders from both Megatronus and Starscream had found him rushing to clean any energon from the bot's frame before he woke. He hadn't found any injuries, and most of the energon was apparently from Soundwave's familiars or from Starscream.

The only energon from the bot's own frame was trailing from the edges of his optics, which Starscream had babbled about going completely white.

Now, Barricade arrived at his spot outside the Temple's main sanctuary and resumed his guard position. There was a ceremony going on. He wasn't sure what kind of ceremony or what it was for, but he had been assigned guard duty and he was going to do his job.

Even if his job was completely superfluous.

As he stood, his thought kept wandering back to the young Praxian. He'd woken up confused, but certain that he'd suffered blackout from a helm-ache.

Starscream obviously knew otherwise, and had noticeably failed to explain to the young bot. He had made certain that Barricade understood the events were not to be discussed with anyone else, though.

Barricade had been ordered to escort the Praxian, who said his name was Prowl, back to the entrance to the Temple. On the way, he'd been expecting the usual excited chatter of newly-Sanctioned bots. They were always excited, and the only reason Barricade could fathom was their official declaration as a full-frame. The Sanction didn't actually have any influence in the final upgrades, didn't add anything to a bot's code. It didn't even involve anything other than prayers, incense, and a few swipes of some rare oil. The only reason anyone would think differently is if they subscribed to the idea of a religious rebirth, which had apparently been floating around as a rumor.

Sanctions were only a big deal because the bot was recorded as a full-frame by the Temple's librarian. The record would be added to the Council's citizen registry, and declared a bot to be a fully functional, fully capable adult in the city.

But on the way back, Prowl had made minimal conversation. Barricade knew that he wasn't aware of the true cause of it or the events that apparently transpired during what he couldn't remember. He hadn't seemed overly embarrassed about his blackout, and he'd carried a happy tilt to his doorwings that belied his apparent calm. Barricade had to admit he was glad for the quiet, even if it was unsettling compared to the chaotic effort to clean the room up before he came to.

Skywarp had been talking to Prowl's creators when they arrived. The only thing Barricade had overheard was a recommendation to see a medic.

The doors to the sanctuary opened and bots streamed out. Barricade snapped to the standard Templars' guard position, with hands folded behind his back and helm bowed slightly, doorwings angled back. He straightened his posture, listening to the footsteps of the bots. Apparently the ceremony had just been a seminar on the teachings of Primus, based on the number of bots.

A lower-ranking Seeker followed behind the crowd, chatting animatedly with two of them. The doors closed again, and Barricade was left in silence.

He hoped the Seeker hadn't forgotten about him and would be back to dismiss him.

 

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

When Sentinel entered the Temple's archives, he was surprised at the lack of dust covering everything. It was a stark contrast to the last time he'd visited this area of the Temple, when there was a thick layer covering every square inch. The dust hadn't cared if the surface was horizontal or even flat either. It had been everywhere.

Now, the metal desktops gleamed in the much-improved lighting, and there were several squishy-looking disposal bags piled near the doorway. Sentinel stepped around them, fearing that even a slight touch would release a plume of soft grey horror.

The sound of the door closing drew the small red and blue librarian from around one tall shelf. His face lit up when he laid optics on Sentinel, and the bot smiled in a way that made him very uncomfortable with how friendly it was.

“Sentinel Magnus, good to see you!” Orion Pax gave a small bow, before grabbing another disposal bag from a pile resting on the desk surface. “What can I help you with?”

Sentinel opened his mouth to speak, but an irritated-sounding grunt stopped him. It had come from behind the shelf that Orion had emerged from. He had come down here to have Orion record the results of that morning's Sanction, and Starscream had specifically said not to tell anyone but the librarian. “You seem really busy. I should come back later.”

The more bots who knew of the situation, the harder it would be for Sentinel to use it in his favor. He didn't know how he was going to profit from this turn of events, but it was a stroke of luck he wasn't willing to pass up.

He turned to go, but heavy-sounding footsteps came from behind the shelf and Ultra Magnus appeared a few seconds later, carrying a handful of dirty cleaning rags. Though the cloths in his hand were completely clotted with dust and grime from centuries of neglect, he himself bore not even a smudge of the filth.

It made Sentinel wonder if he kept himself clean through sheer willpower, and only took showers out of habit. The little red and blue librarian's appearance was much more fitting. Black and grey smudges covered his chassis and droplets of cleaning fluid clung to various surfaces. The color of his hands and forearms could be easily mistaken for a black paint job, and Sentinel could see fluffy dust clinging the outside of his closed vents.

At the sight of Ultra Magnus, Sentinel turned into the room again. Ultra Magnus already knew about the Sanction, so he wouldn't have a problem if the bot overheard him. “Actually, I came to have you record the Sanction this morning.”

Orion gave a small and confused-looking tilt of his helm. “This morning?”

Sentinel nodded and pulled a datapad from his subspace. It held the Sanctioned bot's information to be recorded. He ignored the underlying question. Normally, Sanctions were recorded right after they were performed, if the archivist wasn't present at the time. During the last week of Sanctions, Orion had spent more time recording them than doing anything else.

After a moment of silence between them, with Ultra Magnus returning to his war on the dust, Orion cleared his vocalizer and turned to one of the desks. He pulled a dry rag from his subspace and mopped up some of the cleanser and grime from his servos, enough so that he wouldn't dirty the datapads, and tossed it on the already enormous pile.

He onlined one of the pads and looked expectantly at Sentinel, stylus poised in hand. Sentinel read off the details, watching the movements of the bot's hands as he wrote.

He knew that Starscream intended to bring this Prowl into the Temple. He didn't know when, or why, or what the Seeker planned to do with him once he was _in_ the Temple. Sentinel did know that once Prowl was inside the Temple, he would be completely under Starscream's control. He was young and naive, and a citizen. Citizens didn't know Starscream to be anything other than the gracious and kind High Seeker he pretended to be.

Prowl would become anything Starscream wanted him to be if that happened, and Sentinel couldn't let it. He couldn't let such a valuable tool fall solely into the scheming Seeker's hands and not his own.

Granted, Sentinel himself didn't know what he would do with a prophet, and he didn't know if Starcream knew. As loath as he was to admit, he didn't really understand what a prophet was useful for. If he could find that out, he would know what to do with one. Orion's explanation to Starscream had been long and absolutely stuffed with details, but Sentinel hadn't really heard anything useful.

He had begun to wonder where on Cybertron he would find any useful information on the subject. Orion finished writing the details, offlined that datapad, and turned to resume his own battle against the dust. Sentinel noticed the word prophet, written just as plainly as the rest of the details on the screen before it faded. Orion hadn't even seemed surprised.

Sentinel watched his retreating form, and came to a realization. He was standing in the Temple's library. Surely there would be something useful here, and Orion obviously knew something about the subject.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Ultra Magnus's voice resonated back out to him. He couldn't make out the words, but he didn't really want to. Ultra Magnus had already known about Prowl being a prophet. He'd been fine with that, but Sentinel didn't need Ultra Magnus to know about his intentions towards the bot. Ultra Magnus would either make plans of his own, against Sentinel's, or give a really boring and dry lecture about meddling in other people's business or about treating people as people instead of tools.

Orion undoubtedly had something useful in his library, but Sentinel couldn't ask about it if Ultra Magnus was there. He didn't want to come back later, when Orion would be busy with who knows what else.

Sentinel was officially off duty for the rest of the day, but he knew for a fact that Ultra Magnus wasn't. Eventually, Magnus would have to leave, but even if Orion was on duty, he was the Temple's librarian. He worked in the library. Sentinel could simply stay until Magnus left.

He knew he was loitering already. He saw the quizzical look he got from Orion Pax. He didn't have any other reason do be down here, and there was no way he was going to actively seek alone time with the librarian in front of Ultra Magnus. That would give the impression that he was interested in the little bot, and Sentinel did not want to deal with those rumors.

Naturally, Sentinel could only come up with one reason to stay. He glanced at the pile of rags on the table hesitantly.

Hating the words before they came out of his mouth, Sentinel called to them. “Do you need any help?”

Ultra Magnus's delighted response gave him chills.

 

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

It was at least three hours later before Ultra Magnus announced he was leaving. Something about an appointment, but Sentinel wasn't really listening. He was too busy internally celebrating the announcement.

During the offensively long amount of time spent eradicating the dust, Sentinel's own arms and torso had accumulated a disturbing amount of black grime. Despite the fact that he was only handling the rags and cleaning fluid with his hands, and making sure to keep the filth away from the rest of his body, it had found its way everywhere. Meanwhile Ultra Magnus was still completely clean.

Sentinel had not been at all surprised to learn that the day Orion arrived at the Temple, Magnus had verily ordered him into this cleaning hell. Orion was the first official librarian the Temple had employed in years. Previously, there had been scholars and interns that came and went, but none of them stayed very long. None of them could have been held responsible for the state of cleanliness either, and the first chance Magnus had gotten he'd made sure the problem was taken care of.

When Starscream had first proposed a librarian for the Temple, Ultra Magnus had jumped on board immediately. He'd supported the idea from the start, and as soon as Orion had arrived, Magnus had commandeered Starscream's idea into his own.

Which was just one more reason Sentinel didn't want the other Templar to know of his interest.

Sentinel dropped the outdated datapad on top of the pile he'd been wiping down and stood. Several different joints popped rather painfully in his hips, knees, and ankles, and wires felt tautly stretched.

He shook out his arms and legs a bit in order to relieve the tension. Magnus left, and the door closed after him.

Sentinel rounded on the little librarian, who was still crouched with a datapad in one hand and a cleaning rag in the other. “What do you know about prophets?”

Orion looked up and met Sentinel's optics, his own brightened in surprise. He glanced at the datapad in his hands and a frown pulled at his lips. Sentinel tried to hide his own frown at the action. Finally the bot cleared his vents, which were still closed, and replied. “Not very much. There are only a few records that I've found on the subject.”

Sentinel watched Orion placed the now-clean datapad on a stack as he spoke. The rag hanging limp in his hand was dropped to the ground, and Orion pushed himself onto his feet. He didn't stretch or shake himself out, but headed stiffly towards a large desk strewn with both datapads and some large books.

“Did Starscream tell you anything?” Orion paused and looked at Sentinel questioningly.

“What do you mean?” What did Starscream have to do with prophets?

“He came by earlier and asked about prophets as well.” The librarian shuffled through a few datapads, then gestured for Sentinel to sit in one of the chairs that were strewn about around the desks. “I figured he was asking for the Sanctions.”

Sentinel dropped into one of the chairs, ignoring how low Orion's voice had dropped. “What did you tell him?”

Orion gestured towards the piles of datapads. “Everything I could find. One moment please.”

He shuffled through the mess and pulled a relatively new pad out and picked a stylus out of one of the drawers of the desk. The pad was much newer than the others and much cleaner. Orion cleared his intake again and lowered himself into a nearby chair. “Most everything that referenced prophets only gave designations and frame stats. I did find a few texts that detailed the accomplishments of the past prophets. Most of them served directly under the Primus-chosen Prime along with something called the Speaker.” Orion paused and looked up from his datapad. “I couldn't find much on the Speaker, so it was probably an arbitrary title, which doesn't have any sort of parallel in modern leadership.”

“That doesn't matter. What does a prophet do?” Sentinel flapped his hand around in an attempt to get his point across. He didn't care who past prophets were, he just wanted to know what a prophet was. He wanted to figure out what made the Praxian valuable, and what he could do that others couldn't.

“Do?” Clearly the librarian didn't fully understand what he was asking.

“Yes, what does a prophet do? What makes them a prophet?” Primus, he sounded like one of those scientists who were always asking why the world was the way it was instead of just accepting it as it was. He despised those people who always had to know more.

“Oh. There hasn't been a good explanation in the texts, or a good translation but it seems that a prophet has the ability to make certain predictions about the future. You know, prophecies.” He scrolled through the datapad's display with the stylus to a certain part and offered the screen to Sentinel. Sentinel waved it away. If he wanted to read the information, he would have done that himself. “Alpha Trion wrote that prophets have certain coding or a certain program that allows them to make predictions about the future.” Another pause. “Uh, some of the recorded prophecies were during wartime, and most of them ended whatever conflict there was. Not all of them did, but the ones that didn't completely end the war had a really big impact on the outcome.”

Orion got a really enthusiastic look on his faceplates and Sentinel got a creeping sensation that he was about to go into extreme detail. He cut him off before that could happen.“That doesn't matter.” Sentinel didn't see the disappointment flash across the other bot's faceplates. “How could they make the predictions?” He refused to call them prophecies. Prophecies were made using magic to predict the future. Magic had nothing to do with Primus, and went against everything the Temple stood for.

He felt his EM field color with irritation. Sentinel had come here for answers and information, not to have a discussion with the young bot. He didn't need to know who the past prophets had been, or what they had predicted. He needed to know why they were valuable.

The librarian scrolled through the display a bit more, before stopping again. “According to an early code specialist, the prophet he worked with had a set of programs in his coding that no other bot had. There weren't any program upgrades at that time either, so the prophet was sparked with them. His creators didn't have anything like it, and none of his siblings did. The coding wasn't passed onto his offspring either, so it was unique to him.” He scrolled through the datapad some more, and Sentinel waited impatiently. “Some of the early code specialists tried unsuccessfully to copy the programs, and there's a record of an attempt to make similar programs. That didn't seem to work, either.”

Sentinel snorted impatiently when the librarian placed the datapad back with the others. Surely there was more to it than that. “So a prophet is just a bot with some fancy coding?” He really hoped there was more, and that he hadn't just wasted several hours trying to get the bot alone for absolutely nothing.

Orion winced at the wording and shook his head. “It's much more than that.” He cleared his vents quietly, and continued. “From what I could find, prophets were regarded almost as highly as the Primes were, and a few of the authors praised them as agents of Primus sent to advise the Primes and Speakers.”

The room fell silent as Sentinel thought for a long moment. A Prime was declared by Primus to be the rightful ruler of Cybertron. That was a well-known fact. If a prophet was sent by Primus to be a servant to the Prime, then wouldn't the Praxian only be useful to Sentinel if he himself was a Prime?

Prophets were servants by nature, according to Orion, so it wouldn't be that hard to get the Praxian to serve him, unless a Prime showed up. Sentinel looked at the librarian again, who was still watching him. “You said that prophets served under the Prime. What about prophets that didn't have a Prime to serve?”

“What do you mean?” Orion's helm tilted slightly when he asked.

“Well, like now. There's no Prime, but there's a prophet. What do they do when they don't have a Prime?” Sentinel waved his hand airily to try to get his point across.

It took a second for the librarian to comprehend what he was asking, from the quizzical expression. Then it clicked and the expression melted into a slight pink on his cheekplates. “Oh, they don't. There's not any recorded prophets that have lived in a time without a Prime, and Alpha Trion wrote that the three roles that make up the Trine of Primus, you know, Prime, prophet, and Speaker, only happen together. When one appears, the others do too.”

“So that means there's a Prime somewhere?”

Orion hesitated for a second. “Not necessarily. If a Prime had appeared, the Temple would know. It is a pretty good indication that a Prime will appear soon though.”

Sentinel nodded in a grim manner. A prophet had appeared, and according to the librarian, a Prime would too. Earlier Orion had said that the title of Speaker was arbitrary in modern government, but if the new Prime chose to reinstate the old ruling structure, a Speaker would likely be chosen by the Prime. And the prophet would want to go serve under that Prime.

Until the Prime chose to show up, Sentinel could still take advantage of having a prophet around. He still wasn't entirely certain what he wanted to do with the Praxian, but he did know that he didn't want anyone else to have him, either.

With another slight nod, Sentinel stood and left the librarian to his work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'll be able to work this into the actual story, so I'll mention it here. The title of Magnus is the highest rank of Templars, and Ultra Magnus, Sentinel and Megatron are all Magnuses. Megatron + Magnus =Megatronus, because he thought it sounded silly to say Megatron Magnus.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a long time since I updated this. 
> 
> Just a note, I added the unreliable narrator tag sometime before adding this chapter. This is really just because each scene is filtered through that specific character's mind, so the reader sees their interpretations of what happens instead of the clinical facts of what happens. This is the most prominent in Sentinel's scenes, though it may apply to some other characters as well. 
> 
> Hopefully this is the last chapter that has major portions from Sentinel's POV, because he's not one of the main characters and he's just not that interesting to write or read.

By the time Sentinel reached his quarters again, the sun had fallen below the horizon. While he wasn’t happy about having wasted so much time, at least the late hour meant that there were fewer bots milling about the Temple, and thus fewer bots in his way. He’d only had to stop once, to dismiss an extremely bored-looking Templar from guard duty.

Once inside his quarters, Sentinel moved directly to the personal washbasin, sparing only the time it took to remove his sword from his hip. The washbasin came with the title of Magnus, and while he’d been skeptical at first he had to admit that it was adequate compensation for his outstanding devotion to the Temple’s functioning.

His tank growled uncomfortably, reminding him when his last meal had been. Energon sounded wonderful right then, but that could come later. Right then, his main priority was to rid himself of the horrid filth that he had allowed himself to be covered in. His plating had been itching for quite a while, and the movement of his joints was beginning to feel sticky.

The structure of the washracks itself was fairly simple, just a moderately-sized stone basin laid into the foundation of the room. There were a few simple chains hanging from the ceiling, each with the handle carved from a different color of crystal to distinguish the purpose of each one. While the basin was simple, when Sentinel pulled one the chains, the sound of complex machinery behind the stone walls was audible. He’d seen the structures behind the wall when the engineer had installed it, and he couldn’t possible imagine why something so complicated was required to do something as simple as fill a tub with water.

The water was of course heated, that much was evident from the steam rising off the surface as soon as it poured out of the spigot. The water quickly covered the bottom, and the steam quickly filled the enclosed area with a comfortable amount of humidity.

With the basin filling, Sentinel sat himself on the bench that was integrated with the structure of the basin and added some solvent to the water, watching the pearly bubbles that formed in the solution. After several minutes, the basin was filled, so Sentinel pulled a different chain. More sounds were audible, and the torrent of water ceased.

The water system was nice, but the basin wasn’t as big as Sentinel would have like. Even slouched down in the water, with his peds resting on the opposite bench, his knee guards breached the surface. There wasn’t enough room for him to straighten his legs so that they were completely submerged. He would have said something to the engineer, get it sorted out, except having a luxury like this was already pushing the boundaries of servitude to Primus. He could justify the washbasin because it was necessary to have good hygiene in order to effectively serve Primus, but he could not allow selfishness by demanding more for himself than what was necessary.

With the basin filled, Sentinel set about scrubbing the muck from his frame. He began with his servos and arms fist, submerging them to loosen the grime before scrubbing at it with a rag until the paint was visible again. Once it was removed, the grime was whisked away by water droplets and dripped into the basin, staining the water a murky brown. With a pleased sigh Sentinel continued cleaning himself, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of cleanliness triumphing over impurity and unworthiness.

Now that he could relax, Sentinel’s processor went back to what the librarian had told him. The prophet was only really useful until the Prime showed up, and Sentinel still wasn’t sure exactly what he was useful for. He had a limited time until then, and he didn’t know where to start.

The librarian had also told him that the prophet would only serve the Prime when he appeared, so Sentinel would need to either keep the prophet away from the Prime and somehow conceal the knowledge of the new Prime from him, or attempt to gain influence with the new Prime through the prophet. Theoretically speaking, if the prophet didn’t know about the new Prime, then he would still be useful. Unless of course the prophet was made aware of the Prime’s existence directly from Primus himself. Gaining influence over the new Prime seemed like a more sound course of action to Sentinel, and it would be more permanent. He could use the prophet as a conduit, a direct link to the Prime. That way, Sentinel could remain in the Temple and still be able to carry out his duty as Magnus effectively.

This all meant that Sentinel had an extremely limited amount of time to use the prophet before the Prime arrived. He would have to keep a close optic on him, and make sure that no one else in the Temple managed to get their greedy servos on him.

Sentinel straightened briefly from his relaxed slouch. If he brought the prophet into the Temple, that would make it so much easier for bots like Starscream to use him for their own purposes. Would it be better to keep the prophet away from the Temple instead?

Though Sentinel himself knew the true nature of the High Seeker, most of the citizens of Cybertron did not. He was the highest spiritual authority within the Temple, and as such the new Prime would undoubtedly take guidance from him. The Praxian was a gullible civilian, and Starscream would be able to steal him out from under Sentinel’s chin without even trying. And it would have been Sentinel’s own fault for having brought him into the Temple to begin with.

With an irritated grumble of his engine, Sentinel sank lower into the solvent mix. It was starting to lose its comfortable heat, but his plating still felt foul along some transformation seams.

If he left the prophet where he was now, Starscream’s access was limited, even if he still had some. Sentinel’s own access was also limited, though he preferred that over simply handing the bot to Starscream with a bow and ribbon.

Cleaning his plating with resolve, Sentinel decided to set aside the problem of what to do with the prophet for now. He could visit the Praxian and get a better feel for the bot before deciding for certain what he would do. In the meantime, he could ponder another problem. They knew that a new Prime would show up soon, if what the librarian had said was true.

It was unlikely that the new Prime would so easily fall victim to the Seekers’ silver glossas, at least not permanently. Someone of that stature would be wise enough to see things for himself, would be resilient to the views imposed upon him, and wouldn’t fall victim to some pretty wording or flashy wings.

Every notable Prime in recorded history had been someone well-accomplished and of relatively high stature before they had been chosen by the Matrix. They had also exhibited highly virtuous morality and behaviour, and were beloved by the people of Cybertron.

With his plating feeling as clean as it would get, Sentinel set the cleaning rag on the edge of the basin. In the current state of Cybertron, he tried to think of who could possibly be worthy of receiving the Matrix. There were millions of citizens in Iacon’s district alone, but only a couple hundred across the entirety of the civilized districts collectively that were anywhere close to being worthy. There were a few nobles that weren’t completely consumed by scandal and corruption, and several lesser seekers had managed to distinguish themselves. In reality, most Cybertronians didn’t fit the description. The vast majority were peasants, and it was unfathomable that the Matrix would choose a simple peasant to ascend to Primehood.

Technically, Sentinel supposed, all of the Templars were qualified, as they had pledged their lives in service to Primus and the Temple. However, there was no telling how many of the Templars had actually kept to their vows.

The Matrix was housed in the relic chamber underneath the Temple, and a lot of Seekers and Templars had been around it. Anyone who had ever been in the Temple had. Sentinel wasn’t sure how the Matrix went about choosing a Prime. It could have already chosen and just hadn’t announced it yet. If that were the case, Sentinel wasn’t sure why it was waiting or what it was waiting for.

The librarian had mentioned something about proximity or something, and the prophet had been revealed right there in the Temple.

So who in Iacon was worthy of being Prime? Certainly not Starscream or any of his Trine. There was no way someone lacking such a fundamental principle like faith could possibly be Primus’s vessel. Megatronus’s affiliation with Starscream violated his vows, so that eliminated him. Ultra Magnus was more concerned with order and cleanliness, and while that was something Sentinel could appreciate, Ultra Magnus took it a bit far. Sentinel doubted that the Matrix would be interested in someone with such petty priorities.

Who did that leave then? There were a few minor Seekers and a few notable Templars, and perhaps a couple generous benefactors who donated regularly to the Temple, but none seemed truly fit to be Primus’s avatar. The Matrix wouldn’t settle for anyone less than perfect, and everyone Sentinel thought of had some flaw that disqualified them. In fact, the only one he could think of that met every requirement was Sentinel himself. He had given himself to the service of the Temple even before he had received his final upgrades, and he’d fought with every iota of his being to make the Temple a better place, and had thus received the well-deserved title of Magnus. Unlike some mechanisms, he had actually kept to his vows; he was distinguished, honorable, and no mechanism on the entirety of Cybertron could hope to match his devotion to Primus. Surely Primus would choose his most faithful subject to be his avatar, to reforge Cybertron in his light, as it was intended to be?

He had long seen that the Temple was in need of reform. It was wrought with corruption and filth, and in desperate need of cleansing, and as Prime Sentinel would have the ability to realize this. He would be able to return the Temple to its former glory. In fact, he’d have the ability to return all of Cybertron to its former glory, and all of the sinners and unbelievers would finally be punished for their transgressions. He would finally be able to cleanse the Temple and all of Cybertron of magic, the sickness that had plagued them for so long, starting with Soundwave.

For too long he’d had to suffer the offense of allowing something like Soundwave into the Temple. “Mercy for the innocent” had been Starscream’s justification for sparing him, and even after all this time Sentinel still felt anger boil in his circuits every time he looked at the bot. It was sacrilegious to use one of Primus’s sacred teachings to keep such a monster alive.

Of course Sentinel understood giving mercy to those who deserved it, those who had committed no sins, but how could the High Seeker reconcile his actions, or lack thereof, with the teachings of Primus? In a way, he could even see why Starscream had done as he did, since Soundwave had been faithful to his vows. The only thing he was guilty of was living, and having those familiars following him around like pets on a leash. Regardless of whether or not Soundwave had actually committed any sins, he was still a monster, an abomination, and he was the embodiment of what the Temple had fought so hard to keep Cybertron safe from. By his very nature he was a sin, an abomination. No monster deserved mercy from the Templars, though if mercy was demanded of him Sentinel supposed a swift execution would satisfy that demand.

Yes, if Sentinel was to be the next Prime, chosen by Primus himself, then he could right these wrongs and purify all of Cybertron from the filth that had accumulated, and the prophet would be the perfect tool to execute this purification. That’s what the prophet was for after all, serving the Prime.

But how long would the Matrix make him wait? Should he even be waiting at all, or was the Matrix waiting on him to claim the title, to proclaim himself as Prime?

With a slightly apprehensive sigh, Sentinel made quick work of wiping down the rest of his frame before climbing out of the basin. He unplugged the drain at the bottom, allowing excess moisture to drip off of his plating as he watched the dirty solvent mix disappear down the drain with no small amount of satisfaction.

When the basin was empty, Sentinel grabbed the towel hanging from a polished rack embedded in the wall. He dried his plating rather thoroughly before exiting the space. As soon as he opened the door the humidity that had been trapped as well, and he watched with amusement as condensation immediately clung to the nearby crystal panes of his windows and balcony door, which were cold in comparison to the washroom. Towel still in hand, he opened the fogged-up doors and stepped onto his balcony. He welcomed the crisp chill of the night air against his plating, whisking away any leftover moisture on his frame.

His quarters were in one of the highest spires of the Temple, which provided a view that encompassed nearly all of the city. As he dried, Sentinel watched the city’s citizens moving along the streets below him. From this vantage point, Sentinel could see the darkened ruins of the old capitol building where the Prime had once resided. With the absence of a Prime, the building had fallen into disrepair and was now abandoned, remaining as a relic of Cybertron’s former glory. Now, the Council’s Hall stood as the center of leadership in Iacon, and even now, with the building brilliantly illuminated, Sentinel could see how it paled in comparison to the old capitol building.

“That’ll be the first thing I do.” Sentinel spoke into the peaceful night, resolve filling his words. He could execute Soundwave and his minions on the steps of the old capitol, offering one small victory to usher in an age of triumph.

The night answered only with a small breeze that fluttered the towel draped over his shoulder pauldron and chilling his circuits. With that, Sentinel turned away from the city below him, intent on a night of prayer in the relic chamber. He would answer Primus’s call, and Primus would hear his prayer.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Barricade followed Sentinel up to the small dwelling, adjusting his sword and looking around while his Magnus knocked on the door. The establishment was small and clearly old, but well taken care of. It was clear where the owner’s property began from the sharp decrease in the amount of dirt and debris in the area immediately around the establishment. The stone of the building itself was cleaner as well, and almost seemed more lustrous than the houses next to it.

Even standing behind him, Barricade could tell how uncomfortable Sentinel was. His plating was ruffled protectively, and Barricade had to fight the urge to point out that ruffling his plating like that actually made it easier for dirt to get under it. It was a hard fight, but he had won so far. Aside from his plating, Sentinel’s EM field was prickly with static.

Since entering the neighborhood, Sentinel had gotten progressively more prickly, and to a point Barricade could see where he was coming from. Compared to the Temple quarters, especially a Magnus’s quarters, they might as well have been visiting the slum. But compared to what Barricade had grown up in, this was luxurious.

It took a second after knocking before footsteps were audible on the other side of the door. To Barricade’s mild surprise, it swung open into the establishment on old-fashioned hinges instead of sliding into the wall. It made sense considering they didn’t have a comm system for visitors to announce themselves either. They probably didn’t even have a comm system inside the house, not even one of the cheap, basic ones. Of course the house was small enough that they didn’t really need one.

The door opened to reveal a mostly white-plated Praxian, and Barricade immediately recognized him as the only other Praxian Templar in Iacon. This was of course only due to the bot’s repeated attempts at friendliness, none of which Barricade had accepted. So this was why he had been chosen as a Magnus’s personal escort; Praxians liked other Praxians.

“Sentinel Magnus.” Barricade couldn't recall the other Templar's name, not that he wanted to. But he could see the aborted motion, the instinctual reaction to drop to one knee in a sign of respect and submission when confronted with a higher rank. The Temple made sure it was habitual and silently Barricade commended the bot for resisting. He was off-duty at the moment, with his family, so such gestures of absolute respect weren't required. “What can I do for you?” The bot's doorwings dipped low in greeting, returning to their original position with a slight hesitation.

“Is your son home?” Sentinel peered around the bot, attempting to see inside. He was oblivious to the bot's caution, as it was displayed solely in subtle cues, such as the angle and setting of his doorwings. Sentinel had never bothered to learn anything about doorwing motions, and subtlety was not his strongest suit.

“Uh,” The bot looked behind him, as if checking, before facing Sentinel again. “Yes. Is something wrong?”

“No, I'm just here to follow up on him after the Sanction, see how he's doing and all that.”

Barricade could sense the other Templar's disbelief. It was absent from his suddenly flat field, but his doorwings shifted to an even more guarded angle. The change was minor, and a non-Praxian, especially someone like Sentinel, would never have noticed it, but to Barricade it was obvious. “Oh, okay. Yeah, we were just having lunch, actually.” He moved to the side, holding the door open for them to enter and acknowledging Barricade with a tense nod and a tenser smile only after Sentinel had entered.

The inside of the house was just like the outside—cramped and old, but clean and well taken care of. It was sparse, with only the absolutely necessary or structural embellishments like shelves, cabinets, a table and chairs. It was clear that they were making the best of what they had, and it was even clearer that they didn’t have very much.

Sentinel looked around, taking in the sparse living conditions with no small amount of disdain. The entire house could easily fit into his quarters at the Temple, and then some. From the particular sharpness of the prickle in his field, he didn’t like being inside any more than he had liked being outside and would thoroughly clean himself as soon as he got back, despite the lack of any actual dirt in the home.

The other Templar moved around them, stiffly leading the way through the small space to a slightly better-lit area that seemed to be a dining room of some sort. The room housed a small square table that was dwarfed both by the four chairs surrounding it and the Praxians occupying two of those chairs.

Both Praxians glanced up when Sentinel entered the room, and immediately stood to greet him. One was mostly black-plated, as if complimenting his mate, and the smaller one was a mix of black and white plating. Almost immediately he recognized the bot, remembered the way his faceplates had been frozen in that jagged, half-formed grin while Barricade cleaned his frame of fresh energon.

It had been beautiful, in a haunting way. This was probably just because it was so shockingly different from the suffocating obedience that the Temple was steeped in, but the image of the unconscious Praxian had been refreshing. He’d been crazy, yes, and psychotic, but he’d been powerful in his own right, in a way that defied the Temple, and that was definitely something that Barricade could appreciate. It had seemed wrong to smooth his faceplates into neutrality, like he was erasing some precious treasure from existence. Since that day the image had stayed with Barricade, and many times he’d wished he could have witnessed the event in person.

Barricade wasn’t stupid, and even though he hadn’t been explicitly told what had happened he could make a pretty good guess. This bot was the last Sanction the High Seeker had personally performed, and since then the Temple command had been even more plotty than normal. Whatever they were doing involved this bot somehow.

Sentinel had accepted an offer of energon and sat down, and it took Barricade an embarrassingly long time to realize why he had such a great view of the young bot’s ice blue optics. How long had the bot known Barricade was staring at him?

Barricade hastily broke optic contact and cleared his vocalizer, adjusted his stance to position himself just inside the door in the standard guard form. After several moments of Sentinel chatting pointlessly with the other Templar, Barricade gave in to temptation to glance at the young bot again and was somewhat indignant when he caught sight of the small amused smile that the bot quickly hid with a sip of energon.

Rather suddenly, Sentinel cut off his conversation and addressed the young black and white Praxian. “So Prowl, how are you holding up?” Sentinel spoke as though he were conversing with an old friend, which would be more believable if he actually had any friends to begin with.

Immediately, Prowl straightened his frame to observe the appropriate etiquette. “I’ve been fine sire.” When he spoke, his voice was softened as well, noticeably so even though Barricade had never heard him speak normally. It was the same sickening sweet tone that everyone else spoke with when there was a figure of authority around. Any uniqueness the Praxian may have held in the Temple disappeared without a trace, leaving behind the same ingrained obedience that Barricade was so sick of. The bot wasn’t anything special now. He was plain, boring, monotonous just like everyone else in Iacon.

Sentinel adjusted in his seat to get comfortable, taking a sip of energon before promptly spitting it back into the cup with a disgusted noise. He examined the cup for a second, swirling the liquid inside before setting it back on the table before him. “Good, good. Any more helm aches since the Sanction, or did you get all that sorted out?”

With the small size of the kitchen, all the of the Praxains’ fields were available to Barricade. At Sentinel’s rejection of the energon, all three fields remained perfectly poised, fading slowly to a flat neutrality. However, there was a simultaneous wilting of doorwings, indications of disappointment that had nothing to do with Sentinel’s atrocious manners. Barricade knew all too intimately what they felt, how it felt to watch someone carelessly waste something precious or valuable to you. It was clear from their accommodations that this family was poor, and energon was not common for them.

Despite this, Prowl responded as though nothing had happened. “I haven’t had any helmaches since the Sanction, and my code specialist couldn’t find any problems.”

“That’s good.” Sentinel leaned forward with one arm placed on the surface of the table. This caused a visible tilt, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I’m going to get right to the point. How would you like to be a Templar?”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Prowl’s field wavered. He was surprised, of course, though his surprise was well within the boundaries of pleasant obedience. All three of them appeared pleasantly surprised, and Barricade noticed a slight hitch in both Prowl’s and his sire’s doorwings. “That’s...” Prowl’s sire glanced uncertainly at his creation before continuing. “wonderful, but may I ask what brought this on?”

“What do you mean?” Sentinel shifted again in his seat, oblivious to the apprehension in the three Praxians before him.

Prowl’s carrier spoke up. “Well, perhaps it’s different here in the city, but when my bonded joined the Templar’s cause, he approached the Temple. The Templars never went out recruiting.” Prowl’s sire, who was still standing, placed a hand on his mate’s shoulder.

“I’m sure you can understand my concern as a creator. I was under the impression that those interested and devoted to the life of a Templar went to the Temple. I was unaware that Magnuses ever sought out new recruits, so to have you visit is a bit strange.” The other Templar was silent for a bit, exchanging glances between his family and twitching doorwings in a rushed, barely-there conversation. Barricade didn’t bother trying to eavesdrop, and the conversation ended before he would have been able to decipher anything. “I guess we’re just trying to make sure that there isn’t any problem.”

“Oh, of course not!” Sentinel waved his massive hand airily, nearly taking out one of the Praxians in the process. He reached for the cube of energon again, before apparently remembering the last time. Instead he replaced it on the edge of the tabletop, and the tilt was more pronounced now. “It’s just that your son’s Sanction didn’t go as planned, and the Temple was checking up on him. We take care of our own, you see.” From his position, Barricade couldn’t see most of Sentinel’s face, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture the pointed grin directed at the other Templar. The irony of this statement was lost somewhere within the confines of the tiny establishment, but Sentinel himself was oblivious to this. “We consulted with your son’s instructors at the general academy, and he has shown himself to be gifted in many areas.”

Both creators beamed at the praise for their son, though Prowl himself remained neutral. Since arriving, Barricade had been keeping half an optic on the young Praxian, hoping to catch a glimpse of that dangerous edge he’d seen in the Temple. Instead, Barricade had the privilege of noticing a tiny notice pop up in the corner of his optic, a message projected from his HUD. He also had the privilege of seeing the smirk that tugged up one side of his mouth, quickly covered by a sip of energon. While unusual to be receiving messages at such a time, Barricade didn’t deem it worth his time to ponder.

Sentinel allowed the bots their moment of pride before continuing. “His skills fit those required of a Templar, and the Magnuses believe he would be an invaluable asset to the Temple.”

There was a slight shifting in fields, like movement behind a curtain, between the three Praxians. It was accompanied by a similarly subtle shifting in doorwings, not enough to actually convey anything specific, but enough for Barricade to get the hint. Sentinel hadn’t gone to the young Praxian’s Academy, certainly not to do anything resembling ‘checking up on him.’ Barricade hadn’t attended the Academy, hadn’t had any sort of education before joining. In fact, he hadn’t really had anything resembling skill at all. It was well-known that the Temple would take in anyone, regardless of how talented they were. The Praxians knew this, because they seemed smart in a certain way. They at least knew how to appease a Magnus, and they were well aware of what it took to be a Templar.

Barricade watched with mounting amusement as a distrusting Praxian trio attempted to retain the facade of pleasantries and absolute respect. The other Templer’s vocalizer switched on a couple times, buzzing thickly with static before he reset it. Eventually he managed to get some actual words out, breaking the awkward silence with a strangled-sounding “That’s not surprising.” Clearly, neither of the creators were accustomed to the feeling of suspicion, and were handling themselves quite poorly in navigating new territory. They had been raised in the belief that if you trust in the system, it will reward you.

When he and Sentinel had arrived, the other Templar had been cautious from the start. However, that had been the familiar apprehension of expecting to be punished or otherwise reprimanded. This was the uncertainty of doubting leadership that they had been so finely trained to trust and not knowing how to act. It was entirely new to the Praxians.

The other Praxian, Prowl’s carrier, came to his mate’s rescue. “Prowl is gifted in many areas.”

Predictably, Sentinel didn’t notice the change in atmosphere, and didn’t notice the immensely obvious suspicion now directed at him. Barricade supposed the Praxians were lucky that it was Sentinel that came to visit them, as either of the other Magnuses would have have the processor to pick up on all of this, and would have been quite a bit more subtle in whatever plot it was that they were running now.

Sentinel waved a hand casually before replying. “Oh, without a doubt. Like I said, he’d be invaluable to the Templar’s cause, which is why on behalf of the Magnuses I would like to offer a formal apprenticeship within the Temple.” Sentinel fell silent, looking at Prowl expectantly.

Once again, the two adult Praxians exchanged a glance, this time with their surprise evident in their expressions. Prowl himself considered the remains of his energon rather neutrally before studying Sentinel. Since arriving, Barricade had kept half an optic on the young Praxian, but otherwise he’d been uninterested in the conversation. He had harbored no desire to be there and if his presence hadn’t been an order he would have declined, but now his interest was piqued. The young Praxian had followed every rule, every boundary in etiquette and obedience, but now he looked like he might actually decline. It certainly wasn’t polite to not respond immediately after being presented such an opportunity directly from a Magnus.

Barricade shifted his gaze from Prowl to his creators, who were looking at their creation in equal parts expectation and rapidly growing despair the longer the silence stretched on. The only thing that kept them from answering for Prowl was their own etiquette. Sentinel had addressed Prowl directly with the offer, meaning it was for Prowl to accept or decline.

When he looked back at the young Praxian, Prowl had returned his focus to his energon. Several HUD messages were visible in the corner of his optic, and it seemed that each was being carefully considered. Sentinel, for his part, was leaning forward expectantly, increasing the tilt of the table sharply.

Finally, after what felt like at least an hour, though his chronometer assured him it was only a few sparkpulses, Prowl straightened and met Sentinel’s optics. “Thank you for offering such a valuable opportunity.” As soon as he spoke, Barricade felt something akin to disappointment at the tone he used. It was the same controlled, even tone that he’d used previously, the same one that everyone used when addressing a higher rank, devoid of any sharp or harsh pronunciations, designed to convey submission and respect in every word. Barricade stopped listening, ruffling his plating in mild irritation, but the mech continued speaking. “But I’m not sure I can give an answer right now. May I have some time to consider it?”

Even though Barricade had stopped listening to the conversation itself, he didn’t miss Sentinel’s reaction. He was there as a guard after all, and had to stay tuned in to the details of his surroundings. Sentinel was taken aback, surprised, and seemed somewhat offended by the perceived rejection. But then, there was a touch of something in his field that Barricade couldn’t name, something that felt like he was pleased with himself?

“Of course, take all the time you need. When you’ve made a decision, just stop by the Temple so we can talk.”

Prowl nodded, returning his focus once again to the cube in his hand. With the conversation over, Sentinel stood, banging his audial smoke stacks on the low ceiling. His wince was exaggerated, and he grumbled very loudly as he rubbed the tips of the metal.

Hands were shaken, smiles were given, and Barricade snapped back to attention, following Sentinel out of the Praxian home.

**Author's Note:**

> The Sanction is basically being baptized into an adult and registered as a full citizen. The actual process will be explained in a later chapter.  
> I tried so hard to justify using the usual interpretation of the medieval Dark Ages, but I couldn't. Because they are mechanical and electrical organisms, I figured things like code and certain mechanics would be natural to them and not considered advanced. So this is my medieval robot headcanon.


End file.
